Tabula Rasa
by Iyrsiiea
Summary: Latin: scraped tablet, clean slate, second chance. Mid-transit between Amestris and Germany, Edward Elric gets lost in the Gate and ends up at #12 Grimmauld Place. [DISCONTINUED]
1. Iterum

**Iterum - again, second time, once more**

(blah) : Amestrian

* * *

It had been a rather simple plan. Go back though the Gate with the Thule Society's ships and close the Gate on their side.

However, Edward Elric's plans had a tendency to go awry.

* * *

"-mit Rodney, just tell me what's going on!"

"How the hell am I supposed to know? Huge power fluxuations accompanied by black-tentacle-hand-things was NOT part of the Stargate instruction manual! I don't even kno-"

Rodney McKay, self-proclaimed smartest man in two universes, was interrupted by the Stargate suddenly turning into a giant pair of doors.

"…"

"What the fu-"

The large doors opened, cutting of Sheppard's exclamation and a small figure tumbled out. At this point, the entire population of Atlantis was either evacuated, can't be too careful, or waiting outside the Gate room with guns trained on the new arrival. Everyone was silent, either too dumbstruck or fearful to speak. Then the person got up, looked around, and then faced the massive doors. He kicked it, yelling in a language that sounded like a strange mix between German and Mandarin. ("Stupid fucking Gate! What the fuck? Where am I? Where the fuck did you take me?")

Then, quite suddenly the black arms appeared again, grabbed the small, apparently blonde, man and with a yelp of protest yanked him back inside, slamming shut and disappearing as suddenly as it had arrived.

The silence continued. The Sheppard spoke up. "That's it. I have now seen everything."

* * *

Neo watched with some unease as the swarm of Smiths poured into the alleyway, surrounding him. This fight was starting to become rather one-sided, and the constant smug remarks of 'We are your doom, Mr. Anderson' and 'Humans are such fragile things, Mr. Anderson' were starting to get _really_ annoying.

Just as he roundhouse-kicked a Smith into several other Smiths, Neo noticed that the Smith copies had stopped fighting to stare behind him. Now that the adrenaline ebbed a little, he felt it. A huge disturbance in the Matrix code. It felt like nothing he's ever known, like it was almost… real. _But that can't be right…_

He turned about to see a giant wooden gate. It looked quite foreboding. Its frame seemed to be made of dark stone and it had a carving of a large eye on it. Neo glanced at the army of Smiths beside him and was at least a little mollified to see they were just as confused and disturbed as him.

Neo's eyes darted back to the gateway, which had started to open. Inside it seemed to glow and swirl with a yellow light. Suddenly, a person was hurled out of the doors with a thump. Silence reigned. The person, who looked male with blonde hair and _very_ antiquated clothed got up and turned to look at them with the nonplussed look of someone who didn't understand and didn't _want_ to understand. He stared for a moment and then turned to the doors, which had remained open and yelled at it in an incomprehensible language, gesturing to Neo and the Smith army behind him. ("Could you at least send me somewhere _normal_? What in the name of alchemy is this shit!")

The only thing Neo could think of was that the young man had pissed the gate off somehow, because rather abruptly dozens of long, black armed came out of the gate and pulled him back in. It closed behind him and then vanished without a trace.

Neo looked at the nearest Smith with a raised brow. Smith returned it. Then they shrugged and returned to their battle.

* * *

Underneath Farthen Dur, largest of the Beor Mountains, a battle was beginning. Urgals were filtering up from the tunnels below and attacking the Varden, the resistance group that had hidden in the hollow mountain for several years. Flying above the battle, the dragon Saphira and her Rider Eragon were surveying the battle.

_Wait, what is that? It feels like magic, but… not. What do you think Saphira? _Eragon asked.

Saphira snorted. _I know not. If feels like nothing I've felt before._

The great blue dragon turned about and flew to the source of the disturbance. There beneath them, a large doorway had formed amongst the fighting. Those nearby, even the Urgals, had stopped to stare at it. The stone archway had carvings of people on it in strange, reaching postures. The thing gave off a stench of rot and despair.

Just as Saphira began to land and investigate, the huge doors opened and someone fell out. The person had very strange clothing and smelled oddly like oil and metal. As the stranger got up, Eragon could see why, _his arm was made of metal_.

The person, whom they could now see was male, looked about with wide eyes, and then screamed in the vague direction of the gateway in a language that sounded like the bastard child of the dwarf language and the ancient language. (I ask you to send me somewhere normal, AND YOU TAKE ME TO THE POLAR OPPOSITE OF NORMAL!) The odd man then clapped his hands and turned his metal arm into a blade.

_How'd he do that, that wasn't any spell I could think of, it wasn't even using the ancient language!_

One of the Urgals deiced that this human was just as much their enemy as the others and attacked him. Eragon strung his bow and prepared to shoot, but the new arrival was obviously no stranger to combat with how well he blocked and dodged. The blonde haired, metal armed man danced around the Urgal for a while, and then with a large leap he landed on the monster's head and stabbed its spinal cord, causing it to go limp.

By this time, Eragon and Saphira had landed. Eragon sent Saphira a brief mental message to continue helping the Varden while he walked over to the now bloodied man. The stranger looked up from his kill to greet him and Eragon saw that his eyes were the most unique golden color he'd ever seen. He lifted his bladed arm in front of him in a defensive gesture, but Eragon put up his hands in the universal symbol of peace. The arm lowered a little. Eragon spoke in a soft, calming tone as he would a wild animal. "I do not mean to be rude, but why are you here and what is the thing you came from?"

The golden eyed man looked confused and babbled in that strange language again. (I can't understand you, sorry.) Seeming reassured of Eragon's intentions, he clapped again and the blade became an arm again.

_That defiantly wasn't magic, what was that?_

Before Eragon could think of a way to communicate better with him, the blonde haired man was suddenly assaulted from behind by an Urgal spear that went all the way through what Eragon guessed to be where his left lung was. He rushed to the stranger who had fallen to his knees and was staring in shock at the spear tip protruding from his chest.

_I don't think I can heal the internal organs, but I might be able to stop the bleeding._

Eragon murmured an apology in the blonde's ear, then quickly pulled out the spear, causing the man to growl what Eragon didn't need a translator to know was a curse. Reaching for the magic inside him, Eragon put his hands to the entry wound and said with some force, "Waise hiell!" The flesh began to knit together, going deep down into the muscle. He turned the man over with some protest and did the same for the exit wound. Golden eyes watched in disbelieving awe as his flesh closed up as though there was never an opening to begin with. Eragon knew that the lung was probably still damaged, but for now the man wouldn't bleed out.

He was helping up the stranger when the gateway, which he had completely forgotten in his need to help the blonde, quite suddenly yanked his patient from him and pulled him into its swirling golden depths. It slammed shut and disappeared. Eragon stared after it for a while before an Urgal who had previously been held back by fear of the gate rushed him.

_Right, back to the battle._

* * *

It was a very calm, quiet night at Grimmauld Place, London. The streets were empty, the lights were off and everyone was abed, even those in the elusive #12. The silence was broken briefly by an ancient gate appearing right outside #12 Grimmauld Place and depositing a young, blonde man in bloody clothes on its doorstep.

The stranger lifted his head, looked about, and decided that right there was as good a place as any to take a nap. The gate disappeared shortly afterward, leaving him there.

* * *

A/N: First off, **don't get attached to this! **I don't know if I'll find the time or inclination to continue this, so don't look forward to more updates. Also, for fans of _Uncomfortably Close_, it's **dead** people. Dead. As in, will never see another update again. Ever.

The world I'm using here, if I go on with this, is gonna be a patchwork between the original FMA and Brotherhood, taking the best of both. So if some things seem sketchy, don't mind it. I'm going with the original FMA plot, if you can't tell, but some events, people and such are Brotherhood.

Hope you like it. I'll try to continue this.


	2. Peregrinum

**Peregrinum – strange, foreign, alien**

(blah) : Amestrian

{blah} : Xingese

[blah]: English

* * *

The quiet, peaceful morning on Grimmauld Place, London was disrupted by a yelp of surprise.

Molly Weasley had opened the front door and expected to find the Muggle newspaper that Dumbledore had requested they subscribe to. She had most certainly _not_ anticipated finding a bloody, sleeping boy on their doorstep.

Her mothering instincts kicked in, and she gently pulled the sleeping young man inside.

* * *

Edward awoke to the noise of heated arguing. For a small, hopeful moment he thought he was perhaps in Central and the voices belonged to Mustang and Hawkeye, but as he listened closer he realized with a sinking feeling that the voices used a language he had never heard before.

_Damnit… alright Elric, time to get up and face the world… or whatever world I'm in. _

Prying his eyes open, Edward ascertained that he was in a kitchen of some sort. He was laid out on a table with nothing but his boxers on. A cursory look about the room showed his clothes were draped over a nearby chair and thankfully free of blood. He went to sit up and retrieve them, but was halted by a deep ache in his chest. It seemed like every breath took a little more effort and caused a little more pain.

_Oh, right, I just had a spear in me. At least that boy was nice enough to do… whatever he did. Was it Alkahestry? But there was no circle, he didn't even clap!_

Moving slower this time, Ed gradually eased himself into a sitting position on the edge of the table. Casting a wary glance at the door from which the bickering was coming from, he lowered himself to the floor and quietly walked to where his clothes were. He had just started buttoning up his shirt when the door opened and several people barged in, still arguing. They hadn't noticed he was awake yet, so Ed took the time to observe them.

There was a rather large, loud woman who was doing most of the yelling. ["He's a _boy_, not a Death Eater Alastor!"]She was wearing a plain brown dress and an apron, and her hair was the brightest red he's ever seen. She was the motherly type, he could tell from the worry lines.

The other main combatant was a very scarred, rather old looking man. From the way he moved and walked, Edward could tell that one of his legs was fake. His voice was deep and grating. ["You need to learn to be more suspicious, Molly! You'll get us all killed!"] The man turned his head Edward almost gasped when he saw that one of his eyes also looked fake, it was a bright blue and whizzed about wildly in his head.

The last person, who appeared to be mediating between the two, ["Will you both calm down, your yelling is going to wake _her_ up!"], was a pale, thin looking man with chin, length black hair and black eyes. He looked like he'd been handsome once, and was on the way to being so again, but Ed could see the creases on his face. The man had been though a lot.

A lull seemed to appear in the argument, and Ed's time of not being noticed ended.

They stared at him.

He stared at them.

Edward swallowed. ("Umm… hello. Can you tell me where I am?")

* * *

Sirius Black was having a rather interesting day. After all, it wasn't every day strange boys were found on your doorstep covered in blood. It was an almost refreshing change from the norm.

The Weasley children were all thankfully asleep, and most of the Order was either at their day jobs or on assignment, leaving only himself, Molly and Moody to deal with the unexpected visitor. Alastor had been dead set on leaving him in a gutter, but after a good look at the boy's left forearm he had to concede to Molly, though not without much argument.

The kid seemed harmless enough to Sirius, however he was very concerned that he could get though the Fidelius Charm. Was he a spy, or perhaps an Order member that Albus had hidden from them?

There was another shock after they had removed his clothes and saw that his right arm and left leg were metal and his skin was riddled with scars. Alastor became even more insistent that they be rid of him, though Sirius thought he might just be jealous at being outdone by a boy in the lost of limb department.

A sleepwalking Ginny forced the three adults out of the room for a bit, where they continued their debate at increasingly louder volumes. At that point, Sirius just wanted to shut them up before they woke up his mother's portrait. When they reentered the kitchen where they had left the boy, they were so caught up in their argument that they didn't notice he was awake and staring at them.

The first thing Sirius noticed was his eye color. For a moment he thought the boy must have been a werewolf before realizing that not even werewolves' eyes were so striking, they were more an amber color while _his_ were liquid gold. Secondly, he realized that he was not a boy. Now that Sirius could see his face clearly, he was obviously a young man, perhaps seventeen or eighteen.

There was an awkward silence, before the golden-eyed man cleared his throat and spoke, disappointingly, in a language that reminded Sirius of German. ("Umm… hello. Can you tell me where I am?")

Alastor growled. ["Speak English, boy!"]

The blonde's eyebrows scrunched together. He tried again in a vaguely oriental sounding language. {"Do you speak Xingese?"}

Moody sighed. ["Translation spell it is then."] He took out his wand and pointed it at the newcomer who immediately reacted, moving out of the way. He kept his golden eyes on the wand with a doubtful but wary look. Alastor, of course, took the dodge as a hostile action and threw a stunner at the young man before either he or Molly could stop him.

All three adults were rather confused when instead of crumpling to the ground the target was _lifted into the air_. The stranger seemed quite unhappy with this and was yelling in the first language he used. ("Goddamed bastards! Put me down! What did you do?")

Molly stuttered. ["B-but, didn't you use Stupefy? I heard you say it!"]

["Yeah, I did."] Alastor's eyes narrowed and his wand lifted again. ["Reducto!"]

Both Sirius and Molly made sounds of disapproval, but that was silenced when instead of throwing the floating man across the room, the spell made the clothes he was wearing turn lime green.

The man stopped wriggling midair; instead he stared at Moody with a raised eyebrow. ("Really? _Really? _Why did you turn my clothes _green_ of all things? And how?")

["It would appear,"] Alastor said, ["that magic doesn't work right around our young friend here."]

Sirius stared curiously at the straw-haired man. ["You think he's a Muggle?"]

Molly shook her head. ["There are anti-Muggle wards all over the place; we wouldn't have been to bring him inside if he was."]

The odd young man started babbling again in his language. ("Hey, could you guys let me down? Please?") He made gestures between himself and the floor. Alastor pointed his wand at him and used the stunning spell again which seemed to have the desired effect as the now lime green colored man fell with a thump.

Molly rushed to his side and helped him up from the floor. ["Oh the poor dear, he's had enough, don't you think?"]

Whatever anyone was going to say in reply was lost when the stranger started coughing up blood. The other three in the room stared in shock but the blonde merely smiled with bloody lips.

("Heh, I'm just like Teacher now.")

* * *

A/N: ... what? I just felt like writing. Don't get used to it!

The illustrious beta for this fic is none other than torihito!


	3. Lingua

**Lingua – language, tongue, speech**

Edward had always liked old places. Particularly the smell. Not the smell of old people, mind you. Like any other young person he disliked the smell that seemed to radiate about old, sickly people. No, what he liked was the smell of _age_ that a place gradually acquired. The dust, the stale air, heck even some types of mold held an appeal for his nose. And paper, especially paper.

Edward took in a deep breath, ignoring the deep ache in his chest as he did so. He could _smell_ the books in here.

After the random, squawking chaos brought about by his arrival and coughing up of blood, the kindly-looking red-haired woman had herded him up to a room on the second floor and made signals with her hands that he was to remain in the room. Normally he would have made a ruckus about being held prisoner or some such, but after all that had happened he felt it was best to just go along.

It was a rather nice, if dusty room, with a twin-sized bed against the far wall, a dark wood wardrobe and a sturdy looking desk. There were posters on the walls and drapes on the lone window, all of which, along with the bed, were dark green in color. But best of all, there were _books_. Two tall, dark bookcases were in the corner across from the bed and were filled with books.

The woman closed the door. Ed listened to her steps as she went down the stairs until he was certain she was gone. So far the strange people here had been as polite and helpful as the situation would allow, though his clothes were still a horrendous lime green, but that didn't mean he could let his guard down.

Glancing over the titles, Edward was disappointed to see that most of them weren't in any language he knew. He recognized a few as being in Latin, but this world's version of Latin appeared to be quite different from his own as none of the books made sense. The grammar was way off and there were several words he didn't recognize.

Ed was startled from his inspection of the books by the door being opened. He stood straight and turned to watch as an old man walked into the room. The man had a snow-white beard reaching his chest, half-moon spectacles and was clad in robes an even more hideous shade of green than Ed himself.

The man spoke slowly and haltingly, as though very unaccustomed to speaking that particular language. "Hello. My name is Albus Dumbledore."

Ed, who was filled with both relief and nervousness at finally finding someone who spoke Amestrian replied, "Um- Hi. I'm Edward Elric. Could you tell me where I am?"

The man smiled kindly. "Currently, you are in a house that goes by the name of #12 Grimmauld Place. I could tell you the name of the city it is in, the province, the country and so on, but…", the man's smile didn't change, but his eyes turned probing, "I have a feeling that those names wouldn't mean a thing to you."

Ed's guard went up at the strange look and refusal of information. "And what makes you think that?"

The older man's gaze turned gentle again, as though his suspicions were confirmed. "Because the only other person I've ever met that spoke this language was not from this world. Are you from Amestris then?"

The blonde was dumbstruck for a moment, he merely nodded. Then he thought: _The Gate's sent people here before?_

The white haired man continued on. "Might it be too much to presume that you are an Alchemist? We've found ourselves short one for about four years now."

Edward perked up. "There's alchemy here? I hadn't been sure…"

"Yes, though the practice is very rare."

Ed sighed in relief. Clapping his hands, he touched his clothes and watched with some satisfaction as the green fell off of them as a lime-colored powder, leaving his clothes both repaired and their normal coloring.

The taller man, _Dumbledore_ Ed remembered, hummed and said to himself, "And just as skilled as the other, hmm…"

Gold eyes flicked back up to periwinkle blue. "What is it?"

The man shook himself, apparently having his mind made up. "Edward, would you perhaps be willing to work for me as an alchemy teacher?"

Edward was shocked. _Me, a teacher? _He was good enough to qualify, sure. That and more. But teaching? And to who? How old would they be? How much should he teach them?

But, it was a job. He'd need one if he was to get anywhere in this world. He'd be working with his favorite subject. And from what little Ed had seen of him, Dumbledore seemed like an alright sort of guy.

Edward asked hesitantly, "Where? And to who?"

Dumbledore smiled serenely. "Do you perhaps recall what occurred downstairs that had caused your clothes to become green?"

Edward was suddenly very concerned as to the location of his possible teaching position. He recalled, yes, despite many attempts to repress the memories.

"Yes." It came out more like a hiss. "What was that?"

A very disconcerting twinkle appeared in Dumbledore's eyes. "Magic."

Edward stared at him for a while.

Then: "I suppose next you're going to tell me there's an evil megalomaniac trying to take over the world."

Dumbledore's smile became sheepish. "Well…"

Ed finally understood why the Gate had taken him here. This place was going to kill him.


End file.
